All the painful sci-fi-con filking has added up to this act of genius. When combined with the brilliant composition of some unknown editor this song by Jeff and Maya Bohnhoff is brilliant. I actually prefer it to the original. Because the original is a pathetically maudlin and depressing wank fest.
The last concert I went to see was TMBG at CBGBs in NYC, and that was more than 15 years ago. My dear friend Anne is a screaming Beatles fan, and when she found out that Sir Paul was playing mostly Beatles songs at the ACC she has to go. So Jamie, Anne and I made it into to TO via car and GO. Got lost looking for the arena (how do you hide an arena?). And saw a really fun and possibly sincere concert from an aging music icon. I was really impressed by Sir Paul’s charisma and slightly Parkinsonian dance moves. We had backstage seats which were really fun because I got to watch all the roadies running around.
I am not as passionate about music as others. So normally I would NOT have gone to such a concert. Something that played a role in me going to see Sir Paul was a chance meeting a fellow named Doug. He showed up at The Staircase the morning of the concert. At this point I had not decided whether to go or not. Doug had travelled from London ON on a pilgrimage of sorts. He had seen a lovely video by Jacob Moon that was shot on the roof of The Staircase last year. Doug wanted to stand on the roof where the video was shot because he had found the video and song so compelling. Jamie and I took him up to the highest roof where he looked out over west Hamilton and talked about how the song had affected him. So I went to see Sir Paul on a whim, thanks to Anne and Doug, and had an amazing experience.
It was like a dance. The aristocracy of bureaucrats safely discussed the fate of most of the world amongst caviar and champagne austerity. The media was kept in a gilded cage with free cappuccinos, meals and lakes. The police scored copious overtime hours, sported new crowd control clothing and broke a few heads. Even the anarchists were on time and organized, playing their role perfectly wearing the right colour even. Who paid for this dance that satisfied one and all? We did. Protecting democracy and freedom while sparing no expense, even the expense of democracy and freedom.
This is the sessile robot that calculates our tithe to the hospital for driving to work and being up all night. He used to have a better voice but it appears that he has had a stroke or laryngitis. Poor Mr Parking Robot.